


Taking Steps Is Easy, Standing Still Is Hard

by Vermin_Disciple



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Abusive Parent, Angst, Enabran Tain's A+ Parenting, Episode: s05e14 In Purgatory's Shadow, Gen, Internment Camp 371 (Star Trek), M/M, Past Relationship(s), Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29089671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermin_Disciple/pseuds/Vermin_Disciple
Summary: Tain had briefly considered having Bashir eliminated shortly after Garak’s implant malfunctioned, before determining that it was more trouble than it was worth.
Relationships: Elim Garak & Enabran Tain, Julian Bashir & Enabran Tain, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 23
Kudos: 102
Collections: Star Trek: Just in Time Fest





	Taking Steps Is Easy, Standing Still Is Hard

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Regina Spektor's _You've Got Time_. 
> 
> CW: All of this is from Tain's POV, which is probably a warning unto itself. He spends much of it thinking or talking about Garak, and I'm pretty comfortable classifying their relationship in canon as abusive. So while there is nothing graphic or even very specific in his reflections here, this still involves an abusive relationship filtered through the eyes of an abuser who feels fully justified in his abuse.

Enabran Tain believed in maintaining an optimistic outlook on life. He believed in his own survival, and had thus been the only head of the Obsidian Order who lived long enough to retire. He believed his enemies would meet unfortunate ends, and then orchestrated matters so that those ends were reached sooner rather than later. This approach did not always produce the desired results, of course. He had believed he could wipe out the Founders in one fell swoop, but they had got the better of him in that last encounter. (They had not killed him, however, so he did not consider himself defeated.) He had also once believed that he could transform Garak from his greatest weakness to his greatest asset, and Garak’s betrayal had stung.

In sending this message, he was offering Garak another opportunity to redeem himself. He believed that Garak would seize it.

* * *

Tain had briefly considered having Bashir eliminated shortly after Garak’s implant malfunctioned, before determining that it was more trouble than it was worth. Relations between Cardassia and the Federation were always delicate, after all, and the military had just done them the disservice of botching the situation with the Maquis to their own disadvantage. Starfleet always took the assassination of its officers rather personally, and it would have been an awkward time to antagonize them for something so inconsequential as exacerbating the suffering of one exile.

Besides, Garak’s occasional love affairs always caused him misery, whether or not Tain took an _interest_ in them. One characteristic that had made Garak such a good operative was his initiative: he could take decisive action without needing direct orders and he punished himself for his own transgressions more often than not. (Though there were exceptions, including the circumstances that had resulted in his current predicament.)

Involving himself with an handsome young Starfleet officer fit well with both with Garak’s tendencies towards self-indulgence and his penchant for self-flagellation. Some would undoubtedly question the motives of the Starfleet officer, but Garak always did have a talent for attracting certain types: people with more sympathy than sense, the sort who could convince themselves that there must be a conscience behind the intellect and empty charm. From what Tain had learned of the man, that description suited Garak’s Starfleet officer perfectly.

“Dr. Bashir, how delightful to see you again!” said Tain, after the Jem’Hadar deposited him on the floor of the bunkhouse with a rough shove. Prisoners taken in battle usually came in awake and alert, sometimes still trying futilely to fight back. Bashir blinked up at him groggily, awake, but still weighed down by the sedative in his system. Cases like this, Tain surmised, indicated a planned kidnapping and replacement.

“I wish I could say the same,” muttered Bashir, diction slurred but coherent.

“By my estimation you’ve arrived just in time,” said Tain. “You, _Doctor_ , will keep me alive long enough to orchestrate our escape.”

* * *

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for you,” said Bashir. He meant it, too, even though he must have some idea of who and what Tain was. He looked directly into Tain’s eyes while he checked his pulse, his professional mask concealing any disgust he may have felt.

Tain had never understood the appeal of touching inferior species, even (or especially) for the sake of satisfying base carnal impulses. (When they discussed the topic many years ago, Garak had taken a more philosophical view of the matter, which in retrospect he should have taken more seriously as a warning sign.) But he had to admit that in the frigidity of the internment camp, those warm human hands were enticing regardless of any underlying attraction.

“Do you think you can walk to ration distribution?”

Tain considered saying no, just to see what he would do. The Jem’Hadar allowed one ration bar per prisoner, and no one could collect a second on behalf of someone else. Would the Federation doctor’s conscience allow a dying old man to go hungry, even one he despised? Would he share his own ration? Give it up entirely? Martok, with his tactical mind, might see the strategy in giving half a bar to preserve his best chance of escape, even with his Klingon revulsion for physical infirmity. Bashir would probably let himself starve for the sake of his moral ideals.

This musing was all academic, however. As long as Tain could still walk, he would, lest the deterioration strengthen its hold on him.

“I believe I can, with your assistance,” he said, then added, “ _my dear Doctor_ ,” and enjoyed watching Bashir flinch.

* * *

As bad as it was working in the cramped crawlspace with its erratic lighting and periodic electric shocks, the time he spent outside it, exhausted and idle, was worse. Everyone else left the bunkhouse at those times, though he could usually persuade Bashir to stay if he complained about the pain. Then Bashir would dutifully try out some ineffective Federation technique or other and bemoan the Dominion’s lack of interest in providing basic medical care to their sworn enemies.

After he’d given up on Betazoid plexing, Bashir rose and stretched, and glanced rather obviously at the exit. “There. I’ll just—”

“Tell me, doctor,” said Tain, cutting him off. “How long have you been on… _intimate_ terms with Garak?”

Bashir froze, and his eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t describe our relationship as intimate,” he said, all forced casualness. “We’re not that close.”

“Perhaps I have employed the wrong euphemism,” said Tain. “How long have you been having sex with Garak?”

Bashir did start at this. “I’m not!” he said, too quickly.

“Come now, Doctor,” Tain said, affecting disappointment. “Surely you don’t think you can lie to me.”

Bashir slumped down into the bed opposite him. “It’s the truth. I’m not sleeping with him…”

“…Not anymore,” finished Tain.

“Not anymore,” agreed Bashir, as if all the fight had drained out of him.

“A pity. If you were, I assume he would have noticed by now that you’d been replaced.” Bashir looked stricken. “Can’t be helped, I suppose. No need to look so worried, Doctor, I’m not blaming you.”

“What makes you think I’m the one who called it off?”

 _Because your face betrays you, Doctor._ Instead of answering, Tain said, “You know, I’ve just realized who you remind me of! Tukin — or was it Turik?” In fact, it was Turin. “It was many years ago, and I’m afraid my memory isn’t what it was.”

Bashir looked skeptical at that, so he wasn’t entirely obtuse.

“He was also a _friend_ of Garak’s. Younger than you are now, but then again so was Garak. Very pretty, if you like that sort of thing.” Garak certainly did. “Delicate bone structure and poorly defined ridges. He worked for the Ministry of Science. Brilliant, of course. Some might even say _genius_. You know how it is for men in the sciences: they must be twice as good to get half the acknowledgment. It’s a pity — he _might_ have been a great asset to Cardassia.

“What happened to him?” Bashir’s tone was so flat, it almost didn’t sound like a question.

“Well, let’s just say that his research led him down the wrong path.”

“You murdered him,” said Bashir, in the same flat tone.

“Nothing so crass,” said Tain. “He stayed late in the lab one night—without the appropriate authorization to do so, I might add—and was found the next morning with wounds that could only have come from the leripa blade favored by the Tal Shiar. The poison is quite unmistakable. A quick death, though I’m told it’s a very painful one. The circumstances, and some other incriminating evidence found in the lab, ensured that the project was permanently scrapped.” He allowed himself a wistful little sigh. “Garak always had such a talent for staging. Though his flair for the dramatic was not always an advantage.”

“It must be very galling for you,” said Bashir, quietly. “Knowing that you’re not the scariest man in the room anymore, and never will be again. You can’t use Garak to frighten me, or hurt me, or whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

Tain’s smile was almost genuine. “I can see why he likes you. Such spirit! Just consider it a friendly warning.”

Bashir laughed. “He tried to blow up a planet that I was standing on. Consider me sufficiently warned, thanks.”

“I can see how that might cast a pall over your weekly lunches.”

“We had to switch to breakfast for a few months, to account for visiting hours in his holding cell. He got off very lightly, considering. But then I wouldn’t expect you to consider attempted genocide a serious crime.”

“Genocide is one thing, and attempted genocide is another,” said Tain. “And I would consider such a _failure_ a very serious matter indeed.”

* * *

By all rights it should be Garak in this wretched hole, not him. It should be his _obligation_ to Tain to take this task upon himself. Garak had no right to leave him in the heat of battle like that. Such disloyalty and cowardice! But even if Garak were here, they would no doubt need to switch places periodically. Garak’s efficiency always suffered in small, confined spaces. (Garak thought Tain hadn’t noticed, but if he was going to indulge such a vulnerability instead of eradicating it, then he should have learned to hide it better.

If Garak had been here with him, though, who would he send this message to? _Starfleet_?

* * *

“It’s done,” said Tain. They now entered the most arduous part of the operation: waiting. Decaying, in his case.

“What message did you send, exactly?” asked Bashir. He’d asked before, but Tain had yet to give him a firm or satisfactory response.

“I’ve told him I’m alive,” said Tain. “That will be enough.”

“You should have told him that I’ve been replaced,” said Bashir. When he frowned, deep lines creased his forehead. “Whatever the Founders’ plan is, the station needs to stop it.”

“This isn’t a sophisticated form of communication,” snapped Tain. His tone showed a slight lapse of control, there; he was getting sloppy. He covered it with a bland smile. “I’m afraid I couldn’t send more than a single word. I selected the one most likely to achieve the desired result. Garak will come for me.”

“He will,” agreed Bashir, rather reluctantly. “He wouldn’t come for— anyone else, but he’ll come for you.”

“I hope you’re both right,” said Martok gruffly.

Later, when Martok had left, Bashir said, “He loves you, you know. I don’t know why or in what capacity, but I’ve given it a lot of thought and it’s the only thing that explains his behavior.”

Tain laughed. “Poor Garak. You do paint a very tragic picture of him, Doctor. Is that how you justify it to yourself, I wonder?”

“Justify what?” asked Bashir.

“How you feel about him.”

Bashir crossed his arms. The posture struck Tain as defensive. “I don’t need to justify caring about a friend.”

“What a simple world you live in.”

“Not as simple as yours,” said Bashir. “There aren’t any people in your world, are there? Just obstacles to remove and tools to use and discard. Like Garak.”

Tain tutted. “You’ve got it all wrong, Doctor. If I didn’t care about Garak, why would I want him to suffer for his transgressions?”

“You don’t just want him to risk his life to save yours. You want to make him beg for your forgiveness.”

“I won’t have to _make_ him do anything. He’ll beg for my forgiveness all on his own. But don’t worry, Doctor, I’m sure he’ll wait until you’ve left the room.”

“Maybe,” said Bashir. “Or maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.” After a beat he added, “You were wrong, you know. I didn’t break it off with Garak. Not exactly. I just couldn’t handle the ambiguity of it all, anymore. I told him that we could either try being something more _defined_ , a committed romantic relationship, or we could return to being platonic friends. He’s the one who chose the latter.”

 _He must care about you a great deal_ , thought Tain, and the realization enraged him. Maybe he should have had Bashir killed after all.

* * *

Enabran Tain had always considered himself a patient man. But patience was much easier when you had control. Tain lay imprisoned here, not just by the Dominion, but by his own enfeebled body. Bashir had managed to get himself thrown in solitary; just like Garak, he never knew when to reign his tongue in. Tain actually missed his company. (What passed for discourse among Klingons and Romulans would only depress him further should he try to engage them.)

The boredom might kill him before his heart did. He’d always _hated_ being alone, with no one to talk to. (Otherwise he would have killed Mila years ago.) It was, in his considered opinion, the worst character flaw he possessed.

What he missed most about Garak was their conversations. The linguistic legerdemain! The verbal sleight-of-hand! What a mind his s— that man had! What a waste to leave him to rot on Terok Nor. He’d always intended to bring him home. Really, he’d expected Garak to find his own way back, to force Tain’s hand in some fashion. He’d always been such a willful child. Perhaps Tain had gone too far in breaking him.

No! If his spirit had been broken then it was too fragile to begin with. What more could be expected from a servant’s bastard?

But…

But _if_ Garak managed to do his duty properly this time, perhaps some measure of forgiveness _could_ be granted. Forgiveness, contingent upon future performance. A sin could be forgiven, but never _forgotten_ , and he would ensure that the past always stayed at the forefront of Garak’s mind.

But he _would_ bring Elim home…

_(The pain in his chest grew more unbearable every hour. No one could shield him from his enemies now; not only did they surround him, they lived inside him.)_

…if he arrived in time.

 _If_.


End file.
